A/N: Forgive me, the day has passed but I couldn't leave this little plot bunny. Just a fluffy little one shot for Valentine's Day.

It started on her sixteenth birthday. Three months after her trip through the Labyrinth.

She had always hated her birthday, three days before Christmas meant people were too busy to do anything and the day was forgotten in the midst of the festivities. She didn't even get presents on the day, her father years ago having rationalised that she would be better off having one big present on Christmas Day than two smaller ones on her birthday. When she had been younger and it had been just her, she had delighted in the idea but when Karen and then Toby arrived in their lives and her special day had had to be shared, no one day set aside for her and her alone anymore.

Her trip through the Labyrinth had taught her the price of her jealousy over her younger brother but still, when her father once more mentioned the big present that would be hers on Christmas day she had longed once more to be an only child when the day was hers alone.

She had woken on the morning of her birthday with resignation, knowing that Karen had already planned a day out food shopping for Christmas day and then an evening of putting up the last of the decorations. She knew there would at least be a cake for her with dinner that evening but it would no doubt be dealt with quickly and efficiently before Karen set about doling out duties for the rest of the night.

She had slipped from the bed and pulled on a robe before she had realised anything was amiss in her room. She managed an impressive double take at her dresser before she truly registered the strange array of items left there. She smiled as she realised that the oddly shaped packages and pieces of card displaying various attempts at handwriting were gifts from her friends in the Underground.

The gifts were items she was certain Karen would balk at having in the house, the majority of them looking as though they had been dragged from the junk pile outside the Goblin City but the sentiment surrounding them warmed Sarah's heart far more than anything far grander could. She took her time looking at every gift and reading every card, the coherency of the writing varying in astonishing amounts but the words were heartfelt all the same. She cleared a shelf to house her gifts and arranged the cards on the dresser, the ones from Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo taking pride of place at the front.

She was just about the leave the room when she saw something unexpected in the mirror, her image reflected back at her but, on the mirror side, sat an envelope and a single white rose. She looked down at the dresser in front of her but there was nothing there, merely a space now cleared after she had gone through the presents from her friends.

The friends she had invited back into her life when they had appeared in the mirror after her adventure, only becoming reality when she had given them leave to do so. She had given permission to all but one of the residents of the Underground and the section of elegant handwriting she could see in the mirror image let her know exactly who the final gift was from.

Caution stilled her hand for a moment, wondering if it were wise to accept anything from the King that she had once seen as an adversary, but curiosity soon won out and she reached a hand to the glass, breaching it easily and retrieving the card and the rose from the other side.

The single white bloom was perfect, the thorns neatly trimmed away to protect her fingers and a thin silver ribbon tied about the stem. The ink upon the envelope matched the colour of the ribbon, the fine handwriting running smoothly against the cream linen weave of the paper. She broke the blood red seal, the image of an owl splitting in two as she did so, and drew the card from within. The card was made of the same heavy weave paper as the envelope, the image on the front a hand painted scene that could have been a by any of the great Impressionists but she was certain it was the work of the king himself.

The words inside were elegantly written but simple, only her name, his regards for the day and his signature but they held power all the same. It would be many years later though when she realised just how powerful they were.

For the next four years they shared an annual exchange of words, he would send her a card and a rose, and she, via Hoggle, would send a small thank you note. He offered no different words to those he had sent her when she was sixteen and she only ever sent her thanks for the gift but as the date of her twenty-first birthday loomed she knew she wanted more.

As before, on the morning of her birthday there were gifts from her Underground friends set upon her dresser, the little wooden vanity complete with mirror having crossed the Atlantic with her when she had chosen to complete her university studies in England. The presents were set upon her bookshelves with the same reverence as the first year she had received them but she was sure she got through them a little quicker than usual, keen to reach her present from the king.

As always, it was the other side of the mirror and she reached through without hesitation. The card contained the same sentiment as always and the bloom was delicate and beautiful, almost identical to the ones she now had pressed in a small chest where she kept everything she treasured. She was tempted to respond as she traditionally did but instead she followed her heart, taking her time to write a longer missive to him, filling it with simple enquiries after his health and his kingdom that would entreat an answer without being intrusive.

She would have usually passed the note to Hoggle to give to the king but instead she utilised the mirror, hoping it would reach him as she reached back through the glass and set the letter down. Whilst she longed to wait for an answer, she instead headed to her classes, returning that evening to find a new envelope beyond the glass bearing her name.

Their correspondence started off stilted and formal, long periods of time sometimes passing between their letters but slowly, they grew more frequent and their words became deeper. Through their letters, Sarah found a friend who soon became dearer to her than anyone she knew in the flesh. He was the first she told whenever she had news to impart and he equally shared more and more of his life with her.

Despite the closeness of their words though, neither of them ever broached the subject of meeting. She longed to do so but the subject remained taboo and she didn't dare break the tenuous trust that existed between them by pushing for more than the written word. Instead, she kept every letter he wrote in a chest beneath her bed and the latest one she received beneath her pillow, reading the words over and over until the next letter arrived.

When she was twenty-six, her patience broke. Her birthday had passed with the same card and flower she had come to expect but the words in the card were different, filled with affection and warmth that had her keeping the delicately painted picture on her bedside table well into the New Year.

It took weeks for her to find the courage she needed but whimsy that finally gave her the push she needed. Inspired by the paper hearts and bunting that bedecked every shop front as she wandered home from work through the dreary February evening. Before she knew what she was doing, she had stepped into the small card shop, seeing a queue of harassed looking people clutching teddies, cards, and chocolates as though their lives depended on them.

She barely registered the cards bearing either saccharine or funny sentiments, all of them garish and almost childish but her eyes fell on one that gave her pause, the image similar to the Impressionist style paintings she had received every year since she was sixteen. She barely registered her actions before she found herself back in the street, the card wrapped in a bag bearing the store's logo and a handful of change in her pocket where she had thrust it rather than fighting to get it back into her purse in the crowds.

It sat on the coffee table in her living room for several hours as she ran over what words she could possibly write, every phrase she come up with sounding either like begging or commanding and nothing seemed to fit.

It was nearly midnight when she finally picked up her pen, quickly writing the words she needed, her right words she was sure as she remembered the story from what seemed like a lifetime before. Sealing the card, she hurried to her room, not giving herself time to hesitate as she reached through the glass and set the card behind it. She waited, hoping to finally see his image in the reflection but nothing came and she soon retreated into the living room, absently flicking through the television channels as she wondered what he would think when he received her card.

The best she could hope for, she decided, would be indifference, the card accepted but never spoken of again but the quiet and the night made her think darker thoughts. She thought of him laughing at her, deriding her and the words her card contained.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she barely registered the sound of footsteps in the flat and when she did hear them she froze in her chair, the sound coming from the bedroom rather than the front door. The footsteps stopped by the door and she longed to turn but she feared disappointment, expecting to turn and see one of the goblins sent to disabuse her of the notion that she could ever be more than a penpal to their king.

"Those three words," came the voice from behind her, "You don't know how long I've waited for them."

His voice broke through whatever spell held her in her chair and she turned, a gasp escaping her as she took in the sight of him. Where she would have expected the same image that had first appeared in her parents' bedroom over a decade before she was met instead by a sight she had seen in the tunnels beneath the Labyrinth, the same brown leather jacket minus its billowing cape now worn over grey trousers and black boots. His hair was the same wild coronet that she remembered, the glamour that marked him as something other than human all too apparent in the modern fixtures of her home.

"Jareth," she managed, getting to her feet and rubbing her eyes, half expecting him to fade, "Are you really here?"

He smirked but there was a gentleness rather than cruelty in the look, "Well you did send for me," he said, a wave of his hand conjuring a familiar card, "I must admit, after all this time, I was surprised when it arrived and your words…I've waited for you to release the spell for so long."

"Spell?" said Sarah, hovering beside the sofa as her mind fought a battle between closing the gap between them or remaining a safe distance away, "What spell?"

"You have no power over me," said Jareth, regret in his tone, "You prevented me from contacting you in any physical way. I didn't even know you still had contact with the Underground until one of the goblins mentioned your birthday in my hearing. The mirror was unexpected and I didn't believe for a moment that you would accept anything I sent but I could not…"

"I didn't know," said Sarah, finding her feet and crossing the room, "I didn't realise and all these years I've been waiting. I've wanted to see you for so long."

"Come to me," said Jareth, quoting the words she'd written in the card, "That was all you ever needed to say. I couldn't ask you, even in my letters, the magic prevented me from doing so. My Sarah…my darling girl what a woman you've become."

She smiled as he took hold of her outstretched and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"You look no different," she said, "You're exactly as I remember you."

"The last time we were in the same room you didn't seem to like me very much," he said, her hand still cradled in his.

"Well that was before I had the chance to truly get to know you," she said, taking a step closer to him, daring to reach up her free hand to push back the strand of hair that had fallen over his eye, "Every letter brought me one step closer to you and now I feel as though I have spent all that time in your company rather than separated. I couldn't spend another day without you in my life."

She heard him speak her name but any other words were lost as she gave in to the need that she had carried within her for longer than she dared to admit even to herself. Pushing her fingers into the wild fall of his hair, she drew him down to her, capturing his lips in an uncertain kiss. Her uncertainty soon fled however when a strong arm wrapped surely around her waist, dragging her closer to the warm, hard plains of his body. She felt the touch of his tongue against her lips and opened willingly, glad for his grip on her as her knees buckled as he deepened the kiss.

She was certain time stood still as she lost herself to him, knowing beneath every line they had written to each other over the years they had asked the same questions to one another. Is there hope? Can you care for me? Could you love me?

She shivered, certain he would be able to hear her heart thumping in her chest as the kiss slowed, turning to soft, searching brushes of his lips against hers.

"Precious," he murmured, gloved fingers tucking beneath her chin to tilt her gaze to his, his mismatched eyes searching hers, "I cannot play a game this time. I have given you my heart on the page for these passed years and now I need to know if I have yours. I have spent too long hoping and I…"

Sarah pressed a finger to his lips, "I didn't send you a Valentine's card on a whim," she said, "Well…there was some whimsy involved but I needed to tell you. I've wanted you for so long. I've been in love with you for so long."

Jareth smiled, the look far from the teasing or mocking smile she remembered, his features far softer as he regarded her, "And I you," he said, "That's why I'm placing our future in your hands. I will spend my life with you be that short or long, mortal or magical."

"I don't understand," said Sarah, "My choice?"

"This isn't a fairytale," said Jareth, "Your books would have believe that I'll sweep you away to some happily ever after but the truth is we cannot live between the worlds. Come with me and I'll ask you to be my queen. You will live as I do, immortal but restricted, a gatekeeper of sorts. I will try to make you happy but I can't promise to succeed because I am real, not a creature of fiction. If you wish for a mortal life then I will give up what I have and try to build a life here, the Labyrinth will find herself a new ruler and I will become as mortal as you. I will do either willingly."

Sarah's breath caught, glad once more for his strong hands at her waist, "What a choice," she said, pressing her palms against his chest, one hand beneath the leather of his coat, against the silk of his shirt.

She felt the beat of his heart beneath her hand, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath. She felt the tension in him, knowing he was waiting for her to answer him and she knew every second she delayed was as painful to him as it was to her.

She thought about the life she had led since the Labyrinth. Her friends from the Underground closer to her than anyone else in her life. She had left home the moment she had the chance, moving halfway around the world and in so doing had slowly lost contact with old friends and even with her family, the occasional phone call or letter passing between them but little more. She had colleagues and acquaintances in her life but no one of significance, Jareth always being the first she went to with news even if it was via the page.

She smiled, curling her hand around his neck and drawing him down to kiss him once more, "I could be queen," she said, "It might not be a fairytale but I think we could manage a happily ever after. I think I've always known where my life was leading. Take me home, my love. Take me home."

No one remembered the day Sarah Williams disappeared from the mortal realm; no one even remembered her name. Weeks later when the landlord visited the flat to find it devoid of life he reminded himself it was time to get a tenant, double checking the locks as he found amongst the sparse furnishings a single Valentine's Day card, surrounded by a faint trace of glitter.